


On a Stranded Shore

by MrowSaystheCat



Series: Silent Waters [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrowSaystheCat/pseuds/MrowSaystheCat
Summary: Nate is haunted by memories.





	On a Stranded Shore

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Fallout fanfic I've done, please be gentle?

There were times he couldn’t take even being in Sanctuary. And not in the Red Rocket station down the way, either; despite the fact it was his most used home-front in the area. That night, he and Hancock had been so tired from the fight to defend the settlement against Gunners, they’d decided to stay in the home of Sturges. Right across the street from his pre-war home. It was like sitting across the table from a ghost, having conversations with the specter of the past. No one else could see, could hear – it was insular, the haunting. Somehow, he’d not even realized when he’d stopped working on the set of power armor he’d been tinkering with. Somehow, he’d walked across the street. One second, tool was in hand – the next? His hand was on the doorframe of his old home; looking in to the living room. It had been made more hospitable than when he’d initially found it after the cryosleep that had stolen one life away. Mama Murphy had made this place her home, the special chair he’d crafted for her sitting over in the corner next to a radio. Television used to be there. He saw it in his mind’s eye, then turned off thought about the rest of the layout. Mama was over at the shop-house, a large shack the settlers had created in scrap gathered from what had remained of a few pre-war houses. It served as their market place, and was thriving. She’d had Hancock take her over there, giving the ghoul something to do while he’d been ‘playing with his toys’ at the power armor station. 

Even within the fact that this house was no longer his own, he didn’t want it, he couldn’t help but get the strange feeling he was coming home. To her. To the ghost he knew would be waiting for him in one room or another. He wondered if Mama could see her, with her sight; did they talk? Was it his Nora whispering in her ear when she seemed so distant at times? Did it work like that? Questions he was afraid to ask, in all honesty. It was better left to wondering, at least in his opinion. 

Nate left the living room, glancing at the kitchen and dining area across from the front door for a split second of thought before he was in the hallway. Memories danced through his mind; layering over the current moment. Codsworth busy at his chores, and the sound of Nora’s voice lilting through the small corridor; weaving through the mechanical sounds that all of their Mr. Handy’s actions seemed to cause. He followed the sounds of his songbird, turning in to their bedroom. There she was. Sitting criss-cross on the bed, her auburn curls hanging down a bit before she pulled them back with one hand; smiling down at their son, who was cradled within the fold of her legs and lap. 

He leaned in the doorway, listening to her voice; to the happy little gurgles that Shaun gave over her song. It was a lullaby, and it was about time for their son’s nap – he could prove difficult, of course. Her singing could typically lull the baby to rest. Sometimes, it was the only thing that could, outside of a drive around the block; that was always the worst-case scenario, though. Especially at night, after a long day. 

Her voice faded with the last notes of her song, and Nate found himself leaning in the doorway; just watching, listening. She was as real as life, her smile breathtakingly sunny as she looked up to find him there. Shaun’s gurgling had evened out with her song, and he was quiet in his slumber. Nora held up a finger to full lips, signaling him to silence. Tears filled his eyes as her image faded; the mirage of their old lives turning in to the muted colors of a room being pulled slowly from its former ruin. He covered his eyes with his hands; hushing the sound of sorrow which rose up in his throat. Nate leaned his head against the door frame, trying not to look at where their bed once rested. Where Nora had been, singing like she was alive. Where Shaun had been, resting and content in his Mother’s lap, safe from a world he would slowly grow to know and survive in. 

Things which did not turn out to be, or things which could never be again. Why did she come to him like this? Why did she haunt him so? Arm up on the doorframe was used to pillow his forehead then, hushing the flow of sorrow as it streamed from him in thick waves. Why had he come here? To the past? She was gone. Shaun was gone, or as gone as a child could be without having died. He’d missed… everything. Everything with Shaun. His own son was older than him, by decades! At least physically, but it didn’t matter a lick to Nate that it was a technicality of the situation. It all remained the same. 

A touch came to his shoulder, and then the slow drawing of a hand to clasp the area. It was loving, concerned. He felt his man at his side, and before he knew it; he’d turned in to the arms waiting to hold him. In silence, Hancock led him away after a moment of hugging him tightly. Hand moved from shoulder, to reach for the mourner’s hand. They locked fingers for the walk out of the house; still connected as they made it across the street to the guest room and bed they’d been sharing. In silence, they lay down together, and Nate caressed the withered cheek of the man who had filled the holes and cracks in his heart with gold. Given him his strength back. Made him whole again. Didn’t begrudge him his memories of what he’d lost. Who he’d lost. 

And he knew. Nate knew that he’d truly come home. To eyes as deep as infinity, to charm that could tempt and then lead the coldest heart to thawing. To a rebel prince wrapped in rough, ruined skin; and the kindest smile he’d known in either instance of his life. Yes, this was home now. John Hancock.


End file.
